


Dancing into flame

by LittleLinor



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world burns, and Inigo dances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing into flame

The world burns.  
It burns at the hands of Risen, under the torches of the Grimleal, from the vacated hearths of panicking, self-betraying villagers. Around them the world comes apart, lives and bonds torn apart by violence and distrust.  
Inigo dances.  
He dances with a sword in hand, leaping from Risen to Risen, thrusting the tip of his blade neatly between decaying ribs and pivoting, swiftly, to unleash it in a sudden explosive arc around him, slaying the corpse at his back. Up and around and back, his leg swipes and kicks, and the leverage of the monster's skull under his beating foot is enough for him to jump and turn, for his sword to cut through bone and flesh and rotten cloth.  
It is a solo. There is no one for him to dance with, in this nightmare, no one for him to hook the other end of the line to, to share this dance of death with. The Risen are soulless, and thus he dances alone, his mind and body empty, following the weary, deadly motions of his body.

He dances with a smile on his face, behind the still holding walls of Ylisstol, or on those rare, blessed nights when they can camp safely. Not as openly and blissfully as he'd like, not enough to lose himself in it and laugh with pleasure, but enough to make some eyes sparkle and others burn, until they look at him and not the horror of the war. Flowers may have withered, but he brings them some of that beauty and grace. And if that means they look at him with hunger, nostalgia or resentment, then so be it. Any emotion is better than this apathy, this resigning, this surrender to the world's bleakness.  
He remembers his mother telling him that dancing could be a prayer, and that a friend of hers had taught her how to raise those prayers to the gods. He never learned that dance, but if any gods are even still alive in the nightmare that has overtaken the world, then he wants to keep going, raise the hopes and memories and emotions he gathers and offer them. If not in hope of salvation, at least in celebration of what life they still have.  
He dances into people's arms (and back out of them, more often than not), following that unspoken line between his movements and people's heartbeats, because his mother told him once that love was courage, and they need all the courage and love they can get. He dances into Lucina's lap, once, on a grim, heavy night when they've all had too much to drink to try and forget that they're not sure whether they're celebrating or mourning. He thinks they may have kissed, but if she remembers, she doesn't mention it, and neither does he.  
(He followed that line even closer with Brady, once, and he might once have seen under Gerome's mask, but he knows better than to expect either of them to acknowledge it.)

The world burns, crumbles around them, and Inigo lets Lucina lead them, set their pace, and pull them with her in this giant leap of faith.

He dances, in this new, old world they have reached, with grass under his feet and clear night air against his face, untainted by blood and ash. Curl after curl, limbs swooping to the ground and stretching to the sky, he lets his hope and pain and belief rise, old steps that still hold the warmth of childhood and new steps forged in blood and loneliness. He dances for himself, for the tearful laugh in his heart, for the boy who had to throw himself into the world, into battle, and always, always win, lest he die alone.


End file.
